The Undertow (The Kuroda Yakuza Series Book 2) Read online

  Kaito shakes his head. “Not today, Adele. I need to work. And I don’t want you to go anywhere without me. I thought you agreed to do as I say.”

  We’ve stepped into a bedroom that’s starkly furnished. A bed stands in the middle of the room, and to the far end, the soaring glass windows continue, looking out over a sea of organized concrete. I move close against Kaito, my breasts brushing against his broad chest. His back is to the wall.

  “That sounds a tad possessive,” I murmur. “And I don’t do well with that sort of thing.”

  “So what if it is?” He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “With you, I have a tendency to be that way.”

  “I’m a big girl, Kaito. You don’t have to wrap me in cotton wool.”

  “I know you can usually hold your own. But this is different.”

  “I know. But I can’t miss an opportunity like this just because I’m scared something might happen to me.”

  “What if I’m scared?” Kaito tilts my chin upward, so that I’m looking into his dark eyes. “Nothing’s ever terrified me so much as the thought of losing you. Not even death. You’re the only good thing I have in this life. Can you blame me if I want to protect you?”

  It’s a startling confession that makes my heart beat just a little bit faster. Possessive, controlling guys are usually a turn-off for me. But in Kaito’s world, it somehow makes sense that he’s this way. The danger is real, not imagined.

  A feeling of warmth spreads through me, pooling in my chest, traveling down to my core. I blink. With this man, it’s so easy to get distracted.

  Eyes on the prize, girl.

  “Kaito, I need to go out today. There’s a gallery that’s interested in my art. I know the risks. But I need to move forward. This could change everything.”

  He starts to shake his head, but I put a finger to his lips. “You know, the easiest way to do this is if you come with me.”

  “I have work to do.”

  “This is important to me, Kaito.”

  “Is it, now?” Unexpectedly, he takes my finger into his mouth, sucking gently on it. Amusement glimmers in his dark eyes.

  “I’m being serious,” I protest, trying to pull away. Kaito ignores the gesture, pulling me close to him. He releases my finger, nuzzling down into the hollow of my neck, planting soft, slow kisses.

  “How is it that you’ve got me so well wrapped around your little finger?”

  Oh, so he wants to play it like this?

  I slide my hand down the front of his pants, undoing his belt buckle, his button, his zipper. My fingers curl around the hard length of his erection. “That’s not the only thing.” I move my hand back and forth, as he sighs with pleasure.

  “Your art is important to me, too,” he whispers, as I stroke his cock. “But don’t you dare go hanging, drawing and quartering me in a gallery like you did last time. That was cheeky of you.”

  “Araki-san, was that a pun just now?” I pump harder, faster, as a low, resonant growl escapes him. “I’m impressed. But back then, you were asking for it. You tried to push me away, idiot.”

  He’s talking about a painting I did of him. A huge, bold portrait depicting him in all his shirtless, tattooed glory, his face concealed in shadow, his identity hidden. And over his shoulder, the ghost of a woman looks down upon him. She could have been a lover, a mother, a sister. Or a figment of his imagination.

  The light filling the void. Something he’d missed, for most of his life.

  I ironically titled it Forgiveness. But it was a labor of love to draw every inch of him, the planes and angles of his body seared onto my memory, his vibrant body art etched into my mind’s eye.

  Kaito unwittingly commissioned it when I desperately needed cash. When I made it, he was trying to distance himself from me, because of who and what he is. I put it in my debut exhibition and invited him, secretly hoping he’d take the bait.

  Now, it hangs in his apartment in LA.

  “I’m asking you a favor,” I say breathlessly. “Indulge me.”

  “You play dirty, woman.”

  “Do I?” I slow my hand, just a little, and he shudders with need, his eyes filled with hunger. “You’re part of a team now, Kaito Araki, and you need to learn to play along. I suspect you haven’t been in this position before.”

  “I’m all for new positions,” he rumbles, tilting me backwards. I let out a squeal of surprise as he lifts me into his arms with effortless grace, carrying me to the bed. He lays me down on my back, shedding his suit jacket.

  “Does that mean you’ll take me?”

  “Oh, I’ll take you.”

  Before I have time to form a witty comeback, Kaito has skilfully removed my jeans. When he sees I’m not wearing any underwear, he grins.

  It’s like seeing the glorious sunshine break through the stormclouds. The smile transforms Kaito’s hard, intimidating features into an expression of beauty.

  He still has the ability to fill me with awe.

  I smile back, cherishing this rare moment of happiness. Because I know that all too soon, the reality of our situation will kick in, and he’ll go back to being a calculating, silent killer.

  How long can this last? I’ve been thrust into a strange universe where nightmares and dreams collide, and there’s no way I can get out.

  Because I believe in this man.

  Because I’m addicted to this man.

  I don’t want to admit it, but I’m attracted to the darkness as much as I am to the light.

  Maybe I'm the one who's fucked up.

  We’re bathed in light. Morning sunshine streams through the huge glass windows of this sky palace. Kaito prowls over me, as graceful as a tiger, taking a moment to look me in the eyes.

  “How do you do this to me, each and every time?”

  “Do what?”

  “Get me to fall for you, over and over again. I’ve never been affected by anyone like this before.”

  “Same here,” I whisper. I should have ended this a long time ago. But from the first look, back in that sushi bar in LA, I was hooked.

  He pulls my t-shirt up, revealing my bra. I lift my arms over my shoulders and he takes it off.

  “So beautiful,” he murmurs, planting kisses around my neck. His lips are warm and gentle, causing me to shudder in delight. Kaito unhooks my bra and flings it to the side, exposing my breasts.

  My nipples are taut with arousal.

  He takes one into his mouth, sucking, teasing.

  I moan with pleasure, pulling him towards me. I take his cock in one hand, wrapping my legs around him. He’s still half-dressed, but I don’t care.

  I guide him, and he enters me, thrusting deep. We’re both panting with the sheer need, and I tighten my legs, grinding my hips back and forth, bringing him down close.

  The lean muscles of his back bunch and flex under my legs. I tear his pants down to his knees, curving both my hands against his toned ass, enoying the feel of his smooth, bare skin under my fingers.

  We fuck long and hard, high above the streets of Tokyo, the bright morning sunlight filtering over us.

  Still inside me, Kaito rocks backward, pulling me up so that he’s in a kneeling position and I’m on top, wrapped around him.

  He lets me take charge, and I allow myself to be swept up in the rhythm of our bodies, responding to the feeling of him deep inside me.

  There’s nothing quite like it.

  We’re caught up in a frenzy, and I’m moving faster, rocking back and forth, my hands clasped around his neck.

  Kaito has surrendered the lead to me, and his features have softened into an expression of pure ecstasy. His rough hands curve around my butt, tracing the smooth plane of my back, up to my neck, entangling with my hair.

  Those hands, marked by years of violence, can be oh so gentle. His strong fingers, lithe and elegant, caress my temples, my face.

  Driven by arousal, I fuck him harder.

  My heart is racing.

  My skin is on fire.


  I’m drowning, and it’s incredible.

  We’re together, moving as one, and nothing else matters.

  I ride the wave, a powerful sensation sweeping through my core, wrapping tighter and tighter, building into an unstoppable climax.

  When the orgasm comes, it’s overwhelming. I close my eyes, crying out his name, not caring if I’m heard.

  Right here, right now, there’s nothing else; no-one else.

  Just the two of us.

  Two flawed, imperfect people, creating something beautiful together. Burning away the darkness.

  Kaito comes, holding me close, shuddering with release, his body responding to mine in the most primal way.

  He holds me tight even after the orgasm has left us, nuzzling my neck, inhaling deeply. I bask in the warm afterglow of our lovemaking. He lays me back down on the bed, and as he does so, he studies me closely, his austere, beautiful features transformed.

  He wears a rare look of contentment.

  Unable to resist, I pull him down into a long kiss.

  “Hey Kaito.” My lips quirk into a cheeky little grin. “Fuck it.”

  “What are you talking about, Adele?”

  “Fuck your yakuza clan, fuck the guys trying to take you alive or hurt me or kill you or whatever, and fuck whatever you’ve done in the past. I don’t care what they want from you. You’re mine. You’re too good for me to lose.”

  “Potty mouth,” he accuses, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then his expression turns serious. “But please take this seriously, Adele. Nowhere in this city is safe for us. LA isn’t safe. Not yet. But I’m going to do everything in my power to finish what I came here to do. Starting with those people who’ve been disturbing us. I’m going to go straight to the source.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t worry about the details.” There’s something ominous in the way he says it.

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  He doesn’t reply. I don’t like where this is going, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. We can’t just leave. Can we?

  “You’re loyal to your clan, aren’t you?”

  “I have to finish what I started. What’s happening now is the aftermath of something I did a long time ago. I take responsbility for my actions, Adele.”

  “I’m going to do you a favor and not ask about that.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “You’re not allowed to get hurt, or die. That’s all.”

  “I’ll try my best not to do any of those things.”

  “And you’ll take me?” I trace my fingers down the taut skin of his chest, revealed through his open shirt. “You’ll be my personal bodyguard, just for today?”

  He regards me with a long, inscrutable look, before slowly shaking his head. “For you, I’ll do anything. I don’t know how you have this hold over me, but you make me want to push everything else aside, just to be with you.”

  My heart melts just a little bit more. “Don’t you go getting all sentimental on me, Araki-san. That’s a bit out of character for you.”

  “You’re changing me,” he admits, his hands curving around my waist. “Don’t tell anyone, though. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

  “I don’t think you’re ever going to have a problem with that,” I smirk, pulling him down into another long, searing kiss.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kaito

  The gallery Adele wants to visit is located on the back streets of Harajuku, down a narrow alley lined with small boutiques and cafes. I tell the driver to park the car a few blocks away and we walk the rest of the way.

  We’re still using the banged up Mercedes. It wouldn’t be a good look to park right outside for all to see.

  I’ve borrowed Erika’s driver, the kid who picked me up at the airport. It’s easier for me to observe the surroundings that way. On the way over, I kept an eye on traffic through the rear window, checking to see we had a tail.

  Traffic in Tokyo is sedate compared to the frenetic streets of LA. Amongst the orderly rows of cars, I didn’t catch anyone following us.

  That doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Even I can only see so much.

  As we walk, Adele takes my hand into hers, her fingers smooth and warm against my rough palm. She shows me a sweet smile and my cock goes hard, all over again.

  Even after she’s become aware of the danger lurking in the shadows, she’s upbeat, determined.

  Nothing seems to faze this woman.

  So here we are, visiting a backstreet art gallery in Tokyo. Underneath my suit, I’ve got my Glock holstered at my back. The tanto, the long dagger that’s served me so well, is hidden away, sheathed under my jacket.

  Hidden in plain sight.

  No-one would suspect a thing.

  On the surface, I look just like any other guy in Tokyo; a salaryman in a suit.

  We reach the entrance, and Adele squeezes my hand. “Behave,” she whispers. “Don’t scare the prospective buyers.”

  I shoot her an amused look, but say nothing, studying the entryway and exits. The gallery is a three storey high building of high glass windows covered by a modern, geometric black and white facade.

  There’s a small, understated sign out the front.

  It reads: brightblack. The same is written below it in romaji, the Japanese script used to depict Western words.

  I take a moment to process it all. These kinds of spaces are outside my comfort zone. They’re a magnet for artsy, creative types. People who look at the world through a rainbow colored prism.

  My view of the world has always been monochrome. Not even black and white. Just shades of grey. And occasionally, red.

  That’s why I need Adele. She’s the one who brings color into my life.

  I check her out from the corner of my eye. She’s not even dressed up. She’s wearing the same pair of faded jeans and the loose cotton t-shirt she had on yesterday. Her face is free of makeup. Her wild, dark hair is pulled up in a messy bun. And yet she looks like she’s just stepped out of a TV commercial or magazine.

  So fucking gorgeous.

  Always arousing me. She’s inside my head, invading my waking thoughts.

  How did a morally challenged, criminal bastard like me get so lucky? The most I deserve is lust-filled, emotionless one-night stands with hostesses or gold diggers; the kinds of predators who seek out yakuza men.

  She’s a massive distraction, especially in my line of work.

  I can’t afford her, and I can’t afford to live without her.

  I’m screwed, in more ways than one.

  We enter the gallery, a cavernous space with large, white walls. The floors are polished wood, and my footsteps echo hollowly across the room.

  The first area has an interesting collection of small black and white pictures. They’re drawn in a kind of manga or comic book style, but they show sinister hints of violence. They’re visually arresting things, each hitting you like a small punch.

  A punk with a beat-up face, his left eye bruised and bloody.

  A woman wearing a traditional Japanese kimono; her back to the viewer. She’s the very picture of impeccable grace, except she holds an old-fashioned revolver in one hand, tucked behind her in a sinister way. As if she’s contemplating hurting someone.

  A man with irezumi tattoos covering his arms and shoulders, bandages wrapped around his torso, a menacing look on his face.

  That last one doesn’t seem so far-fetched. He could be someone I know. He could be me.

  As we wander around, a woman approaches us. She stands out in this sea of black and white. Her hair is cut into a sharp bob and dyed bright red, and she’s wearing thick-framed, multicoloured glasses. Covering her small frame is an oddly shaped black dress that seems more like a sack than a piece of clothing.

  An artsy type.

  This is too far removed from my world.

  I’m the odd one out here.

  “Hi, welcome to Brightblack. Can I assist you
with anything?” She speaks slowly, with a heavy accent, but her English is good.

  Adele takes over, introducing herself, flashing her perfect, charming smile. The colourful woman greets her with warm recognition. I step back and allow them to talk, trying to fade into the background. I’ve already noticed a couple of curious, sidelong looks from the red-haired girl.

  Maybe I give off a certain vibe. I don’t know.

  I tuck my hands into my pockets, hiding my severed left finger.

  In Japanese society, it’s an instant giveaway.

  It’s the kind of detail that, once noticed, would kill any hope Adele had at landing a deal with this gallery. That’s why I left the car a few blocks down.

  A black Mercedes with a beat up rear? In Tokyo?

  The driver and I, in our suits?

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

  As the women talk, I drift over to another part of the gallery, all the time keeping tabs on Adele out of the corner of my eye.

  With everything that’s going on, I’m not letting her out of my sight.

  This section is showing a series of photographs. I’ve never been an expert on art, but I actually find these intriguing.

  It’s a set of pictures depicting the homeless around Tokyo. The photographer has captured the places where they dwell, in parks, under bridges, alongside the river. There are shots of neat structures constructed from cardboard and blue tarpaulins. There are orderly lines of washing, the clearings around them swept clean and kept free of dirt and trash.

  There’s permanence to the impermanence.

  My mother and I could have been living like that. But she chose to sacrifice her body and become a prostitute, just so she could put a roof over our heads.

  She was eventually consumed by the ravages of that lifestyle.

  She died in a hospital bed, eaten from the inside out by a savage disease called AIDS. I know how she got HIV. She injected things into her veins.

  That was the other sickness that overtook her.

  Addiction.

  It’s not around so much now, but back then, heroin was an epidemic.

  I was about ten years old when she first got hooked on that shit. She tried to hide it from me, tried to shield me from the dirty reality, but even at that age, I was a streetwise kid. I grew up way too early. We never talked about it. She tried to be discreet about it, and she never allowed Masa or I to touch the stuff.